


The Golden Thread

by yaygayhooray



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: LiveJournal Prompt, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaygayhooray/pseuds/yaygayhooray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I open my eyes and nothing is as I remember, for there is nothing to remember at all. I travel down these paths with no voice, lost amongst the trees with no direction save for the one that takes me ever closer to freedom. Constantly I must ask myself, where are my steps taking me? Who are these people that lead me on my journey? What is it that I am so intently searching for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the i_reversebang challenge (2012). The story is based upon this piece of art by piecrumbs: http://i.imgur.com/CX9UF.png
> 
> Many many thanks to my beta for hashing through this with me. And a lot of love and thanks to my wonderful, amazing artist, piecrumbs, whose art provided me with such wonderful inspiration. Not to mention for her AMAZING second piece of artwork for the story, which you can see here: http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v199/strawberrypai/80b6b43f.png

 

 _Once upon a time, in a world that may have been a dream, a man woke with nothing more than a purpose and a vision.  He sought but one, a man whose skin was made of wrinkled paper and whose eyes were as deep and dark as the earth. This man was known as nothing and everything, for this man was movement, this man was_ time _.  Time turned his fathomless gaze upon the man and asked of him, “What do you seek, my son?”_

_“A man.”_

_“But he is lost; you and I both know this.”_

_The man was not deterred in the slightest, for this he already knew.  “I know he is lost.  I want you to help me find him.”_

_Time extended out his leathered hands and smiled a crooked grin, all bent and twisted teeth.  “I can offer you nothing except for time.”_

_“You must help me.  I was told that you were the only one.”  The man’s eyes narrowed dark and determined.  “There must be something else.”_

_The one known as Time did nothing but smirk in response.  His tongue flicked out to wet dry, cracked lips before he spoke again, “You do not understand, son.  Power is not something offered lightly.  Time, yes, time I can give you to find him, but the cost is steep, the terms are irrevocable.”_

_“Anything,” the man replied, “I will give you anything.”_

_A baleful round of laughter filled the air at the man’s response.  “If you wish it.”_

_“I do.”_

_“My price is your voice—”_

_“Done.”_

_“—and your memories.”_

_Dark eyebrows furrowed and a frown fell upon the man’s face as the spit dried up within his throat.  “My memories?  How can I find a man I do not remember?”_

_Time tilted his head almost as if confused.  “That is a question for you to answer on your own.”  His lips then pulled back into a grand smile.  “If you do not take my deal, you will never find him—that I can promise you.  Give to me what I desire and you have my word that you will find him.”_

_The man bit his lip and breathed in deeply through his nose.  “How long?”_

_“For as long as it takes.”_

_The man gazed at Time, almost as if he could see through him, almost as if what he sought was already within his grasp.  To find that man he would do anything, give anything, even his own life.  “Will I ever get my memories back?” he whispered._

_“Find him and you two shall return as you arrived; fail, and in this realm everything you are will belong to me.  For Time is generous and takes as well as gives.”  Reaching out one trembling hand, Time took one step closer.  “Shake my hand, son.  Shake and time is yours.”_

_The man closed his eyes.  He had made a promise never to leave the other behind.  He had made a promise that no matter what happened, they would always be together, in this world or the next.  He was bound to that oath like a man possessed.  He could still see the entrancing grey of his eyes, the breadth of his hands, and the entrancing grin.  He had promised… “Deal.”  Reaching out his hand, the man grasped firmly onto the wrinkled skin and opened his eyes.  “You have a deal.”_

_As the words left his mouth, the illumination of this world, of this nothingness, began to fade.  As the light snuffed out, all he could see was a sparkling pair of eyes and a bright gleam of warped teeth.  Words failed him, speech left his chest, his eyes shimmered into darkness, and the truth of the world was forgotten.  That man was gone.  All that was left…was me._


	2. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I open my eyes and nothing is as I remember, for there is nothing to remember at all. I travel down these paths with no voice, lost amongst the trees with no direction save for the one that takes me ever closer to freedom. Constantly I must ask myself, where are my steps taking me? Who are these people that lead me on my journey? What is it that I am so intently searching for?

My eyes flutter open to sound of birds and the sight of searing light flittering through the trees above me.  In these first few moments of wakefulness everything seems to fall into place: the rocks and twigs digging into my back, the musty smell of wet soil flooding my nostrils, and the cracking mud falling off my face.  But then engulfing my senses, as if from nowhere, is the utter confusion and the terrible throbbing knocking around behind my eyes and causing me to groan.  Where the hell am I?  I roll up into a sitting position and swallow harshly to prevent the quickly forming nausea from disrupting my stomach even more and inciting the gag reflexes.  I attempt to open my mouth to breathe in, only to find that doing so causes a pulling pain to sear my jaw.  What.  The.  Fuck?  Why the hell can’t I open my mouth?  I run a trembling hand along my lips and nearly scream.  Fucking Christ!  My lips are sewn shut.  My lips…are sewn shut…I take several deeply drawn in breaths through the nose, attempting to settle the utter horror trying to claw up my throat.  I place my hand over my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut against the dizziness.  This is okay.  I am okay.  I will figure this out.  There must be a logical explanation to all this, surely there must be.

After several minutes of doing nothing but breathe in and breathe out, the immediate panic begins to cool and my stomach settles with a derisive growl.  My vision, which up until this point had been swimming about furiously, comes into focus as well, allowing the world to appear before me in a wash of greens and greys.  Around me on every side is a tree of sorts, twisted and crooked, growing left and right and up and down, like a strange plethora of artwork born of the earth.  I look ahead of me only to lay witness to the most bizarre fact—I am sprawled in the middle of a pathway, a path wide enough for one on horseback, yet too narrow for someone travelling by car.  Every half a dozen feet down the path are odd, dilapidated wooden signs, the paint on them having worn down under the elements.  I tilt my head to the side and find one of them next to me, the faded remains of the words, ‘Time Awaits’, smeared across the wood in grey paint.  Upon seeing the words, a wave of discomfort rattles my brain and I close my eyes against the feeling.  It’s not pain, not really.  It’s more of a pressure, like there should be something there when there isn’t.  Wait…

Okay, okay, breathe, _breathe_.  Let us think about this situation rationally.  What is the last thing I can remember?  The thought slogs through my mind and carries on in silence.  Okay, I cannot remember what I was last doing.  How about the day before?  Another frisson of apprehension settles inside of me when nothing pops up.  There is nothing there; absolutely nothing.  There is only a giant white slate where my memories should be.  Do I even know my own name?  My eyebrows furrow when I realize that I cannot even recall that simple fact.  Strange as it is, I think to myself, “I have no memories.”  I think the words again, a third time, a fourth time.  It’s not until the fifth time that it truly begins to register.  I genuinely cannot recall anything.  Honestly, it should be an alarming discovery, but with the dirt shifting beneath my fingernails and the fresh breeze sifting through my hair, there is no fear.  Uneasiness?  Yes.  Perplexity?  Yes.  Bewilderment?  Fuck yes.  But fright?  Not so much.

I push myself up from the ground and wipe the dirt from my hands onto my pant legs.  My nose scrunches of its own accord, ill-content with rubbing dirt all over my nice clothing.  But the alternative of having mud caking onto my hands is not a suitable option.  There is already enough mud peeling off my face, I don’t need more of it thank you very much.  Glancing around, I contemplate my options.  Although, frankly, I suppose there is really only way to go and that’s forward.  I must be on this pathway for a reason.  As I move along the trail, I glance at each of the numerous signs.  In most cases, the words are too worn out to read, but it does provide me with a bit of entertainment as I walk.  The pathway doesn’t last more than ten minutes before forking in two.  There’s a sign sticking in-between the two paths and I stoop down to read, ‘Turn Right for Cobb, Turn Left for Eames.’  Cobb?  Eames?  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?  Neither word rings any bells, not that they could even if I wanted them to.  That being the case, I reckon it really doesn’t matter either way.  Neither track sounds more appealing, so I guess I shall try the true and sturdy first: right.  I walk quickly deeper into the woods, the trees rapidly growing thicker and the branches sticking out at all sorts of odd angles.  Several of them whack me square in the face which results in a growl roiling in my throat.  It’s not like I can open my mouth and swear.  Crappy… _thing_.   Fuck!  I let out a short huff through my nose and resist the urge to touch my lips.  Picking at the cords in my lips will do nothing but cause me more pain and more unneeded anxiety. 

I continue along the same trail for what seems like hours, a discordant chorus of animal sounds filling the air around me and the sun filtering through the trees and lighting the ground before me.  As the path begins to widen, I find myself coming across a muddy puddle; within its thick depths are several sets of footprints already imbedded into the ground.  There are two sets of smaller footprints, clearly made by the bare feet of children, and another larger pair of footsteps marking the ground alongside them.  Perhaps Cobb is a person then?  Or maybe a group of people?  “Don’t you think you’re going the wrong way, Arthur?”

My eyes swivel around.  What the—?  Up in the trees sits a lovely woman, her hands wrapped around a thick branch and her back hunched forward elegantly.  Her legs are dangling from the branch, swinging back and forth almost like a small child.  Although her one foot is bare, the opposing foot is cradled in a strappy black heel.  In the most Incongruous fashion (completely inappropriate in these surroundings), her one shoe is matched by a tight, glittering black dress that clings to her from her shoulders down past her knees.  As if in support of my sentiments, there is a frayed tear line running down the side of her dress, almost as though some creature had latched onto it with its nails and _pulled_.  Not that I really have any room to make remarks.  I’m wearing a nice pair of trousers, a button down, and a jacket no less.  Why exactly I’m wearing them in the middle of the woods, I have yet to discover.

Upon my inquisitive assessments, the woman’s lips draw up into a voracious smile, almost as if she could swoop down upon me like some wild animal.  It takes all of my will power not to take a step back from that crazed look on her face.  “Arthur, Arthur, Arthur,” she murmurs, “such a stubborn man you are.  And now look at you.  Unable to accept the inevitable, you are lost.”  I want so very dearly to respond, but my lips do nothing more than pull painfully at the thread buried into my skin.  I huff out of my nose in frustration causing the woman to let out a tinkling laugh.  “You agreed to this, my pet.  Don’t complain about it now!”

What the hell do you mean I agreed to it?  And why do you keep calling me Arthur?  And even more importantly, what do you mean that it was inevitable—what was inevitable?  You, my lovely lady, make absolutely no sense.  I am in the middle of the forest, with a crazy woman in a tree babbling nonsense at me.  This is certainly a dream.  She grins at me once more.  “I can see the questions in your eyes, but I cannot help you.  It is not my place.”  I scowl at her and attempt to convey my displeasure through mere gaze alone.  It doesn’t appear to work.  “I can give you a hint though…if you’d like.”  She pauses and I sigh.  _Yes_?  She continues staring at me until I finally nod my head in agreement.  Alright lady, let me here your mad ramblings.

She flashes me a wink and after a length pause finally says, “The man whose eyes flame green as trees gives nothing more than lies and games.”  That’s it?  _That’s_ my hint?  What the hell is wrong with this woman?  She chuckles at my dark expression.  “Good luck, Arthur.”

I blink my eyes and the tree branch is empty.  My eyes narrow.  Holy mother of fuck what is going on here?  A bird caws from a tree and the woods go silent.  It is only as the quiet fills the space around me that I hear it: laughter.  I hurry down the path and burst out into a clearing.  _Okay_.  This is… _odd_.  In the center of the clearing, all angles and glass, sits a modern style home colored a dark shade of red.  Laid out in the front yard is a large blanket, upon which sits a teapot and an assortment of sandwiches and cakes.  “Our guest is here!  Phillipa!  James!  To the front yard!”

Alright, so perhaps Cobb is the family?  A tall man with dark hair steps out of the front door leaving it open for two small children, a young boy and girl neither of whom can be more than six.  The girl races up to me and grabs at my hand.  Oh no no.  I don’t do the children thing.  She tugs and my hand again and smiles.  “Come on, Uncle Arthur!  It’s time for my tea party!  You promised you’d come!”  Uncle Arthur?  How curious indeed.  Alright, I’ll go along with this.  It is my dream after all…

I allow her to drag me forward to the blanket where the man and boy are already sitting.  “James, aren’t you going to say ‘hello’ as well?” the man asks.

The boy looks up at me through his bright, blond lock and whispers with a tentative smile, “Hi Uncle Arthur.”

I would reciprocate, however, given my current… _circumstances_ …The man smiles at me.  “How have you been?  Not well I suspect, but that’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?  We’re going to have a nice relaxing picnic!”  I roll my eyes heavenward.  Yet another person that clearly knows more than I do but to whom I can’t ask any questions.  Oh how wonderful.  The man starts dishing up a ham sandwich and a sugar cookie for each of us.  The kids eye the food with drool practically hanging off their little demonic lips.  “So Arthur, the lip binding…does it hurt?”  I shake my head slowly.  “And the memories?  Still buggered off somewhere?”  I give him a wary eye but nod anyways.  “A shame, that.  You have so much to offer.  Tea?”  He pushes a cup in my direction.  My eyebrows shoot into my hairline.  Are you serious?  What an asshole.  I narrowly suppress the urge to smack my forehead and instead turn the desire into a fierce glare.  “Oh yes, of course not.  Sorry.”  I roll my eyes again and get myself comfortable.

“Uncle Arthur.”  I look down at Phillipa who has half a sandwich crammed in her mouth.  Isn’t that just lovely?  “What’s that on your mouth?  Is it lipstick?”

“It’s gold thread, honey,” the man says.

“Ohh.  Can I touch it?”  I sigh and gesture her forward.  Alright, come on you little brat.  She springs forward with a giggle and clambers into my lap.  Okay, I’ll admit, that big grin on her face is a little bit cute.  Before I know it, a small hand is tracing along my lips, moving up and down each piece of gold.  A giggle tumbles out of her lips.  “It feels funny!”  I can’t help it.  I smile back at her.  Trust me, it does feel quite strange, little one.  She pokes at my lips.  “Does it hurt?”

Her dad responds, “No sweetheart.”

“Did a bad man do this to Uncle Arthur?”

For the first time since the beginning of lunch, James peeps up.  “I know!  It was mean Ol’ Misser Fischer!”

Phillipa gasps.  “Was it, Daddy?  Mr. Fischer is bad bad bad.”  She turns her face towards mine and frowns.  In a soft whisper she leans in and says, “Mr. Fischer eats babies.”  My eyebrow rises.  Oh really now?  An old man who eats babies?  Your Dad sure reads you some strange shit.

“He does though.”  What?  “Eats children.”  You cannot be serious.  The dad’s eyes are grave as they stare into mine.  “After his son grew and moved away, old man Fischer went crazy.  Or so they say.  He pines for his lost baby boy, so now he cooks children in his pot to keep them with him forever.  Such a sad tale really.”  A sad tale?  A cracked man who eats children is somehow sympathetic?  Apparently this dream is far darker than I had thought.

Phillipa huddles further onto my lap.  I don’t know how or why it happens, but suddenly I find my arms wrapped around her.  Even more strangely, it seems _natural_.  Maybe I do know these people after all.  I may have been knocked about hard enough to lose my memories, but maybe it is only a temporary thing.  One can hope anyways. 

“Do you kids remember the song?”

Phillipa perks up in my lap and James claps his hands.  “Well _duh_ , Daddy,” Phillipa huffs.  “I’m six now, remember?”

“Of course,” he smiles.

With a glance over at her brother, Phillipa nods her head completely serious.  “James!  Come on!  Ready?”  She clears her throat with a dramatic flourish and I resist the urge to laugh.  James watches her expectantly.  Almost, but not quite in unison, the two start with Phillipa taking the lead and James vaguely mumbling along,

“ _Old man Fischer, down by the sea,_

_With his spoon and his spices, he heats up his pot,_

_The—the k-kids come by his house to play,_

_For curiosity knows only the one way.”_

I feel my eye twitch a little as their dad claps.  “Good job you two!  You almost forgot that one line, but you remembered it!  Good!”  Was that supposed to be a nursery rhyme of sorts?  Because I think you may have missed the mark by a lot.  You know the part where stories aren’t supposed to scar children for life?  I think you may have missed that step…

“So Arthur, are you going to go?”

What the hell is he on about?  Where the connections between the two conversations are is beyond me.  At my confused look, he sighs.  “Are you going to go to Mr. Fischer’s?”  Why, by all that is holy, would I go there?  I narrow my eyes at him and wait for him to explain.  For some reason, I know he will.  3…2…1...“If you want Saito to answer your questions, you must bring him one of Fischer’s children.  It is his payment.”  In typical fashion, my eyebrow starts creeping upwards again in question.  “Saito is the only one who can help you with your journey.  Lucky for you, he has a personal vendetta against Mr. Fischer.  Therefore his price for information is one of Old Man Fischer’s children—alive.”

So what exactly are the pros and cons of doing such a thing?  Let’s make a quick mental list.  Pros: I might be able to find out what exactly it is I’m supposed to be doing (considering that no one is being particularly helpful so far despite our apparent familiarity with one another).  Cons: I must sneak into a psychotic man’s home and _kidnap_ a child from him without him finding out and potentially attempting to kill me.  At this point I’m not really seeing how this benefits me.  I mean, of course I would like to know why I’m here, and clearly I want these damn threads cut out of my lips; however, that requires a doctor, a nice, skilled, _clean_ doctor.  I suppose this man Saito may be able to give me some helpful information.  Maybe.  Or maybe I can just convince this man to tell me more.  That seems like a much more reasonable option.

He looks at me with a question in his eyes as I wave my hand at him.  But now, let’s see here.  First I point at him, then my head, then at my chest.  That sounds about right.  ‘Do you know me?’  Standard pseudo sign language.  Perhaps he can garner my question out of that.  The man shakes his head and chuckles.  “Arthur, you and I have been friends for a long time, but I do not know how to help you.  I cannot help you with your search.  You have to seek out Saito’s assistance.”

Oh for fuck’s sake!  I rub a hand over my eyes and groan.  “Uncle Arthur?  Are you okay?”

Peeking out from under my hand, I cannot help from sighing.  With a nod, I lean down and touch my lips to the top of her head in a semblance of a kiss.  In an instant, a tiny pair of arms is wrapped around me.  Whoa, wait a minute here!  “I’m gunna miss you, Uncle Arthur.  I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m sorry sweetie,” my supposed friend responds in my place, “but he has to.  He has a very important job to do.  Come on, why don’t you help me pack some food for Uncle Arthur before he leaves?”

“Okay Daddy.”  Little Phillipa hops off my lap and skips after her dad, followed shortly by a running James.  Wow, thanks Cobb family.  Some wonderfully _helpful_ advice and some food for on the go, except, aren’t you forgetting one thing?  I can’t eat jack shit with my mouth sewn shut.  And isn’t that just a terrifying thought?


	3. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I open my eyes and nothing is as I remember, for there is nothing to remember at all. I travel down these paths with no voice, lost amongst the trees with no direction save for the one that takes me ever closer to freedom. Constantly I must ask myself, where are my steps taking me? Who are these people that lead me on my journey? What is it that I am so intently searching for?

After a quick freshening up, the father of the Cobb clan gives me some vague, fairly unhelpful directions and a small sack of food (which I still can’t eat) before I set off.  For a forest, the trails here are surprisingly well kept.  Strange, really.  I am about two hours into my journey when the crooked trees fan out around me and I find myself smack dab in the middle of a puzzle—a puzzle that one would never wish to solve.  Well, fuck.  Stemming out from my position there are half a dozen paths: the one behind me and another five striking off in random directions.  I don’t recall the Cobb’s giving me any information about _this_ particular joy.  But I suppose it could be worse.  At least each direction has a sign.  I swivel my head around and sure enough on the sign behind me reads: ‘For Cobb, this way.’

Now let’s see here.  What about these other signs?  ‘Wanderers beware—Time is running out.’  You have to be kidding me.  I move to the next one.  ‘The king lives in his castle of blood and tears.’  I can feel my eye twitch.  _Alright._   How about the one next to it?  ‘Make one’s way to the mushroom house.’  Groaning, I move to the final two.  ‘True love’s kiss is right this way.’  And finally, ‘Be wary travelers at the sea.’  A ha!  This one must be it.  The kids’ song mentions the sea.  By logical deduction, this has to be it.  I follow the sign and stroll in that direction, nearly smiling all the while.  I will figure this out.  I just have to keep moving forward.

“Arthur, Arthur, _Arthur_ ,” I hear a voice tsk me from above.  How the hell does this woman get herself up these trees in that dress?  “Yet again you’re going the _wrong_ _way_.  You haven’t been paying attention to the signs have you?”  Those senseless things?  It’s not that I haven’t, it’s that they aren’t very helpful.  To iterate this thought, I give her a slightly annoyed look and wait for her to respond.  When she sees my expression, she laughs.

“Do you honestly think I’m that easy to decipher, Arthur?  Now really, be reasonable.”  The grin she gives me is wide and all consuming, as if it would swallow her face whole.  “However, since you are apparently in desperate need of my assistance, here’s a little rhyme to help you pass the time: _Down the winding track I walk, with gilded mouth and eyes of coal; Take me down, past the sea, for only one path can set me free._ ”  She pauses for a moment and then says, “Well, what do you think?”  Hmm, let me guess, the whole rhyme was about me?

“Oh, don’t be such a grouch, dear.  I’ll give you another rhyme to play with sometime.  Until then though, enjoy your journey!  Oh, and Arthur, be a dear for me and try not to die.”  I’ll try to do that, thanks.  “Ciao!”

In a blink of an eye she has disappeared yet again.  Can’t say I’m too upset by it.  Her remarks are rather disturbing in all honesty.  Although I am quite curious as to how she disappears like that.  Must be some sort of illusion.  Or maybe it’s just because this is a dream.  Well, maybe.  Sometimes it’s hard to decipher the difference.  I feel real enough.  My thoughts, my actions—all of them are made by reason and logic and not by a random cropping of events and memories as dreams are.  Very intriguing indeed.

~

It is hours later and the sun has yet to set.  In fact, it appears to be growing rather than decreasing.  Shouldn’t it be nighttime by now?  Regardless of the sun I have reached the beach and what do you know, right when the road ends and the beach begins there is a mansion (probably three times the size of the Cobb home and that’s quite a remarkable feat).  Yet, this begs the question of how do I approach this situation?  I could merely walk through the front door and hope for the best.  I snort at the mere idea.  I think not.  I’ll have to peek in through each window individually and try to make a vague mental map of the house before cracking one open and sneaking in.  “Who might you be, young sir?  Come to see the Duke have you?”  _Shit_!

I swirl around to find a large, older man dressed in a dark suit and standing much too close for comfort.  How he got so close to me without my noticing is utterly baffling.  When I don’t respond, he says, “Well boy are you coming inside or not?  The Duke doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”  I wanted a way into the house.  I suppose I have it, even if this isn’t going quite according to plan.  I step aside to allow the man to pass, but even after a good five seconds he will not budge.  “Go on.  Don’t make me force you.” 

I snort and turn towards the house.  Alright then, I guess my choices are rather limited here.  I head towards the house, my whole body tensed.  Now that I know he’s behind me, I can’t shake the bit of uneasiness settled in my belly.  When we reach the door, I cannot help but hesitate as I grab hold of the handle.  Despite my unease, I open the door regardless.  I don’t know what exactly I was expecting when I stepped inside.  However, I can say without a doubt that it wasn’t this.  On every inch of every wall are paintings, paintings of the same little boy—the same bright blue eyes, the same mousy brown hair, even right down to the same two dimples on his cheeks.  And here I was thinking that the Cobb’s were exaggerating.

“Down the hall and to your right.”  Alright, alright.  I’m going.

I walk down the hallway and turn.  WHAT?  This is absolutely ridiculous.  Someone is clearly pulling my leg here.  This frail old man?  He kills children?  Surely this is some sort of prank.  Old Man Fischer, or should I say, the Duke, is reclining in a tall wing-backed chair.  His hair is a tangle of receding grey splotches and his is body hunched over.  Frankly, it appears as though he could fall dead at any moment. 

“Tell me, son,” he croaks in a soft whisper, “has your journey been pleasant?”  I nod hesitantly.  “Good.  I know what it is you want, and my response is ‘no’.”  How the hell—you know what, never mind.  Everyone around here clearly knows everything there is to know about me.  It’s truly not all that peculiar in the grand scheme of things.  “Unless of course, you can solve my riddle.”  I resist the urge to roll my eyes.  But of course.  Why wouldn’t there be a riddle?  “You have exactly thirty minutes to solve the riddle.  If you don’t then you shall be kicked through the door.”

Kicked through the what?  And where?  “If you go through the door, you shall be tossed out onto a random trail and never return here.”  Okay, that’s not too bad.  It could be worse.  You could just have your employees kill me outright and then eat me up along with the children.  I have to say I much prefer the door option.  I nod my head in agreement with his deal.  When he sees the movement he smiles.  The grin that is spread on that old, wrinkled face is one I will never forget.  It is like looking into the face of a demon and knowing that they are looking straight back at you.  I repress a shudder as I wait.

“There are three doors,” he coughs out.  “One leads to freedom, one leads to hope, and one leads to happiness.  Which do you chose?”

Oh just great.  Okay, this was definitely not something I anticipated.  The riddle, if one can even call it that, is not really a riddle at all.  It is a personal quest, a personal choice, for you cannot live without all three.  You need hope to find freedom from others and one’s self.  You must have freedom to find happiness, for without freedom you can be no more than content.  And happiness is the necessary goal for the other two to be relevant.  It is a circle really.  So you can’t choose just one.  Or can you?

He gives out a ragged chuckle.  “Browning, go retrieve the tall one will you?  I no longer require her services.”  The tall one?  Seeing my curious look, he smirks.  “You can have something to look at while you think.”

Browning turns without a word and walks away.  I am left standing alone with the Duke who just sits there and smiles at me.  I won’t lie to myself—there is a part of me, albeit a slim part, who would very much like to strangle that old man.  I mean, he’s a cannibal, and besides, he’s plenty old enough that by the time his bones reach the grave they’ll have disintegrated anyways.  However, call it intuition, but I have a strong feeling that Browning’s suit conceals more than just a body.  In fact, it is almost a guarantee that he is armed.  The moment he stepped back in here would be the moment I’d receive a bullet to the brain.

Minutes pass.  Who knows how long I’ve been standing here.  I should be trying to solve the riddle, yet the side of me currently in control wants to know who is coming.  “Ah, there she is,” he mutters.  I turn.  My eyebrows scrunch downwards in a scowl.  What the hell kind of trick is this?  That girl is far from being a child.  Small and tiny, yes, but she can’t be younger than 16.  In fact, I would guess her to be 18. 

“She’s my child in everything but blood.  She helps me care for the little ones until they’re ready.”  To eat?  Oh Christ.  I resist the urge to cover my mouth, but just barely.  “But she is getting old and soon she will wish to leave me.  If you solve my riddle, she shall accompany you on your journey.”  But I was supposed to get one of your babies, not this practically full grown woman.  I did not agree to this!  Frowning at Old Man Fischer, I point at the girl and then push my hand towards the ground.  “Boy, you will take her or none at all, you hear?”  Despite his leathery voice, the words still carry the threat.  So I either take her or get shot in the head.  Personally, I chose life thank you very much.  I give a curt nod to agree.  But I’m not pleased Old Man.  Not one bit.

Browning steps towards me and holds out a sheet of paper and a pen.  “For after you’ve picked your answer,” he says.

At least this solves one problem.  I take the opportunity to sit down and rethink through the riddle.  Freedom, hope, and happiness.  For whom exactly?  For what purpose?  This riddle is very incomplete, not to mention it has quite an expansive scope.  Such simple words really; nevertheless, they can cover so many situations. 

“Arrtthhurrr!”  Fuck!  Don’t do that!  I whip my head around and find the girl kneeling next to me.  Her soft brown eyes bore into mine and a bright smile is spread on her cheeks.  “Ouch, those look like they hurt.  It’s too bad about that, really.”  I cock my eyebrow at her.  Nevertheless, she takes no heed and continues to blabber on.  “The Duke has been getting on my case for _days_.  He’s been waiting and waiting for you to show up.  It sure did take you long enough.”  Hey, I’ve only been awake for one fucking day!  Anything that happened before then…well, it isn’t really my concern.  “You have no idea how excited he is to be rid of me.  I’m too old for his… _appetites_ …yet I’m young enough to be like a daughter to him.  Really though, I just annoy the shit out of him.  Or so I’ve been told.”  _Really_?  I _cannot_ imagine why.  “So what’s the riddle?  The Duke _loves_ riddles.”  I look over at her completely askance.  “Oh yeah, that’s right.  Sorry.  I wasn’t thinking.”  It’s fine, it’s fine.  Whatever.  Here, I’ll write it out for you.  I rip off part of the page and quickly scribble the words out for her.  “Hmm…I see.”

I flip over the ripped paper over and write out, _‘The answer to this is circular, for the element behind each door requires the others to survive.  It’s perplexing.’_

“Not really.  Not when you think about it.  Have you considered that the answer isn’t a door?”

Umm, what?  _‘What do you mean?’_ I write.

“This is a riddle.  It isn’t a question.  You say the argument is circular, then your answer must be awesome.  It’s like that old question, ‘Did the chicken come before or after the egg?’  The answer is neither.  Therefore, your answer must be circular as well.”

That…makes far more sense than it should.  I could almost hug you for that.  The answer is not a door.  The answer is circular.  The answer is not what you would expect, but rather what explains the problem.  It is not a direct answer, but rather an explanation.  If that’s the case, then let’s try something like this, ‘ _A rope once twined cannot be unraveled.’_ I push the paper towards her and she gives me a bright smile.  Alright then, let’s give this a try.  I’ve got nothing to lose.  I push myself off the ground and step over to the Duke’s chair.  Handing over the sheet of paper, I swiftly take a step back.  The less time I have to spend near him the better.  He skims over the paper and smirks.  Well shit.

“Interesting,” he whispers.  “Very interesting indeed.”  Interesting, nonetheless incorrect?  “I shall accept this answer.  I would have also accepted happiness.”  My eye twitches and I glance over at the girl with a scowl.  So why is it ‘happiness’?  And if that was the answer, then why did you accept my response?  This doesn’t make a lot of sense.  “You are free to go.  And take the girl with you.  I am no longer in need of her assistance.”  Tilting his head to the side, he lets out a hacking cough.  How is this man still alive?  “Browning, escort them outside please.”

I would like more information; however, at this point I don’t really give a shit.  I just want to get the hell out of here.  I follow Browning back down the hall and towards the front door.  The girl trails behind me, humming all the while.  “Oh Arthur,” she squeals “we are going to have so much fun!”  For some reason, I doubt it.


	4. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I open my eyes and nothing is as I remember, for there is nothing to remember at all. I travel down these paths with no voice, lost amongst the trees with no direction save for the one that takes me ever closer to freedom. Constantly I must ask myself, where are my steps taking me? Who are these people that lead me on my journey? What is it that I am so intently searching for?

_“Listen to the wind’s song, as it sings you to sleep.  Deep into the dreams where time is never-ending.  He holds his hand out to all those who pass but never do they escape.  Pulled deep into the abyss where nothing is as it seems.  Lost, oh lost, are we, deep in dreams.  Ask for freedom and you shall receive none, for to awaken is to die—to awaken is to remember.  Listen to the music and drift back into the wind, drift back into a world where dreams are real and the only certainty is that life will end.”_

I glance over at my companion as her voice fades.  That was a lovely song; I wonder if like the poem recited by the children it means anything in this odd world.  Strangely enough, her presence hasn’t been as horrific as I anticipated.  As a matter of fact, I quite enjoy her being around.  She has so many interesting stories and songs.  I hadn’t realized just how boring this trip had been until she joined in.  She looks over at me and smiles.  “It’s the song of the Prince.  Everyone here knows it.”  Everyone here?  Just how many people live in this weird place?  “He lives in the castle.”  So the sign wasn’t lying then; there really is a castle here.  Although, the fact that the words ‘blood’ and ‘tears’ were involved gives me much pause.

“Ah, here’s what we’re looking for.”  Huh, that’s strange.  In the middle of our pathway is a line of mushrooms, trailing into the woods with no direction and no discernible road.  “After you, Arthur.  Follow the mushrooms!”  Oh!  I get it!  The mushroom house!  That must be where Saito lives.  And this path is just another way of getting there.

Alright, why not?  I stop when I hear a loud laugh.  I look up.  There you are.  I was wondering when you’d return for me.  “Oh Ariadne, you are such a child,” she says.  My companion scrunches her nose and I can see her resisting the urge to stick her tongue out.  “You, like all the others, are so determined to lead him astray.”

Wait, what do you mean _astray_?  The girl I now know to be Ariadne—why she didn’t tell her name before now is a mystery—rolls her eyes.  “You know as well as I do that this is the path to Saito’s.  That’s who Arthur needs to see so that’s where we’re going.”  Wait wait, can we go back to the whole ‘being led astray’ thing?

My quirky guardian gives the girl a contemptuous look.  “What one wants and what one needs are two very different things.”

“Arthur seeks knowledge.  To gain knowledge one must seek Saito,” Ariadne huffs.

The woman hunches over and rests her elbows on her knees so she can cup her chin.  “Knowledge is deceiving.”  She turns her mischievous eyes on me and says, “Arthur dear, try not to be too distracted by pretty words and inimitable objects.  They will not help you on this journey.”  Yet how do I know that you are any more trustworthy than the people who have directed me thus far?  How do I know whose words to listen to and what paths to follow?  I can only do my best, lady.  She merely smiles at my dour expression.  “You’ll figure it out, Arthur.  I know you can.”  I blink once and find that she has disappeared yet again.  Damn it, how does she do that?

“Ugh, stay away from her, Arthur.  She’s a trickster, that one.”  Is she now?  She’s always been a bit strange, but she hasn’t done anything to me…yet.  I guess the question is: who really knows what’s best for me?  I sure as hell don’t seem to.  “Hurry up, Arthur!  Saito’s probably waiting for us.”

Frowning, I follow along behind her.  There’s not many options at this point is there?

~

We step out from the trees and come across a quaint house.  The outside is painted in splotchy shades of browns and blacks, making a quirky spotted pattern.  Although the house is modern in a way, it seems to grow larger as it rises in height, with a straight bottom and another two levels that stick out over the lower floors.  How it is architecturally sound, I am unsure.  Logically, it doesn’t look like it should be able to stay upright.  Nevertheless, the reason why it is called the mushroom house is now clear.

Making our way to the front of the house, Ariadne holds out her hand to stop me.  “Now Arthur, when we get in, just let me do all the talking.”  Frowning, I lift an eyebrow to explain to her my contempt.  When she sees it, she groans.  “You know what I mean, Arthur.”  Do you now?  “I’ll tell Saito where I’m from so you don’t have to do some freakish sign language thing.”  So nice of you to think of me, but let’s get going.  I am curious as hell to know why everyone has been directing me to this place. 

Moving around her, I head to the front door and knock.  Instantly, the door is pulled open to reveal a young man with ragged brown locks and a sour expression.  “Here to see Master Saito I presume.  Come in.”  He shuts the door behind us and hollers, “Mr. Saito!  You have visitors!”

A firm voice calls back, “I will see them in here, Mr. Nash!”  Ariadne and I follow Nash down through the parlor before stopping at a wooden door.

“You shall address him as Mr. Saito or nothing at all.  And stay off the rug, it’s made of wool and not easy to clean.”  Alright, fine, we’ll stay off the rug.  With a swift turn, he is down the hall and out of sight.  Odd man that one.

Ariadne taps on the door and a “Come in” greets us.  We step into a room covered from ceiling to floor in bookshelves.  I wonder what they all are.  In the center of the room sits one long table surrounded by six evenly spaced chairs.  At the far end sits a middle aged man sipping from a tea cup.  His dark eyes are sharp and focused, following our every step.  On the table in front of him are a small china set and an ashtray with a still smoldering cigarette dying inside.  The smoke curls upwards almost as if it had a mind of its own.  I glance over at Ariadne to find her grinning from ear to ear.  “Hello, Saito!  It’s a pleasure to meet you.  I’m here courtesy of the Duke.”

I look back to Saito to find his eyes trained on me.  “I know who you are,” he replies.  “But do _you_ know who you are?”  It doesn’t take a genius to realize he’s talking to me.  Almost unconsciously, I run a finger over my lips just to feel the thick threads woven into my skin.  I shake my head.  You know I don’t, Mr. Saito.  Why bother asking the question at all?  “Should that not be your question then?  Or would you rather steal away from here with useless drivel and nothing more than the assurance that we are actually asleep?”  _What_?  Your line of thinking doesn’t really follow.  You cannot prove to me that I am indeed dreaming, for everything about this place is real and tangible.  Not to mention, how can you possibly know what information is useful to me and what isn’t?

Saito watches the thoughts flicker across my face and laughs.  “So tell me, Arthur, what is it that you wish to know?”

I frown.  Before I have time to attempt to sign anything though, Ariadne speaks up, “He wishes to discover how to release his bonds.”

Saito’s eyebrows rise.  That’s an interesting reaction.  “Does he now?” he replies.  Those dark eyes of his stare into my mine, shining in amusement.  “If you say so.”  Wait, what are you smiling about?  Clearly there’s something else you think might be more prudent.  Saito says, “And what is to be your payment?  Her?”  He does nothing more than give a quick glance Ariadne’s way before turning his attentions back on me.  Quick, precise, and to the point—you seem like a very intelligent man, Mr. Saito.  I can appreciate that.

“Yes, I am going to be his payment, if you’ll have me,” Ariadne says with a smirk.

“What use are you to me, girl?  I usually only accept the small children.  You are…quite large indeed.”  Saito grins at his own joke and I restrain the urge to laugh.  I like you, Saito; you’re alright.

Ariadne looks insulted for all but half a second before smiling.  “I know you think I’m useless Saito, but I’m a lot smarter than you give me credit for.”

“Is that so?” the man murmurs.  “Alright.”  He sets his tea cup down and grabs hold of his cigarette to take a long drag.  The smoke curls about his face as he blows out a breath.  Well that’s intriguing.  I watch the smoke shape itself into a large ring as Saito puts down his cigarette, utterly nonchalant about it.  This whole experience just gets more fascinating by the second.  I wonder how he does that.

Saito coughs causing me to drag my eyes back to his face.  “For Arthur to continue on this particular path, you must recite to me the poem of the ‘Blood Prince’.   Can you do that for me child?”

Ariadne rolls her eyes.  “Of course I can.”

“Then proceed.  If you attempt to deceive me, I shall make your lives most difficult.”  _What_?  Is this man insane?  I glance over at Ariadne but she’s nonplussed by his words.  Okay, you’ve led me this far.  Please don’t let me down now.  Sensing my nerves, she turns and gives me a quick smile.  The smile, remarkably, settles my nerves.  Of course you can do this.  You sang to me the song of the Prince earlier.  Surely, this can’t be much different.

“ _Soaking up his tears of blood, freedom is as freedom does.  Spotted lips of whitest rain, dragged out of darkness into day.  Yet freedom of the heart he will never find, for true love is trapped within one’s mind._ ”  The words are met with a light clap.  I have to agree, that was a pretty nice piece.

“Very good, little one.  I suppose I will keep you.”  How nice of you, Saito, but perhaps you may have considered using different words.  You seem a bit arrogant.  But then, judging your character isn’t what I’m here for.  “As for you, Arthur, I need only ask you once.  Are you afraid?”

Of course not.  Being afraid would require more information than what I have to go on.  At this point I’m just along for the ride.  I shake my head and in return Saito smiles at me.  You know, people here (wherever here happens to be) need to quit smiling.  Besides perhaps Phillipa, none of you are really pulling off the sweet and innocent look here.  Your twisted lips hide far more than can possibly meet the naked eye.  Saito stands and makes his way around one side of the table.  He pauses in the center of the bookshelves and pulls out a single volume.  He throws the book on the table, the cover of which reads, _Limbo_.  Limbo huh?  The place between Heaven and Hell?  That’s a curious title for a book to have.  The bookshelf gives a high pitched creak, before pulling forwards and sliding to the side.  Holy hell, what is that?

Saito steps aside and swipes his hand forward.  “Your castle awaits, Arthur.”

You mean you want me to walk down that dark passageway into nothing?  Are you insane?  What the fuck is on the other end of this tunnel?  Saito claps his hand and instantly a line of torches lights the passageway.  Okay, okay, I guess I can do this.  Right?  It’s no trouble at all.  None.  Do I want my lips undone or not?  Well then Arthur you have to move forward.  I take in a deep breath and step over to the opening of the bookshelf.  Ariadne calls to me, “Good luck, Arthur.”  Yeah, you keep saying that, Ariadne.  Good luck has nothing to do with it.

I step inside the tunnel.  A thick silence presses in against me till I can practically taste it on my tongue.  The last thing I hear as the door closes behind me is Saito’s disembodied voice, “Remember, fate is what you make of it.”

~

When I step outside into the sunshine a rock wall slides in behind me and seals off the tunnel.  _Okay_ , can’t return that way even if I wanted to.  This is a nice place though.  Surrounding me is a beautiful garden; there are a couple of sparsely spread trees and flowers everywhere.  The petals of the flowers are white, spotted with flecks of deep scarlet as if blood had been sprayed haphazardly across their surface.  Despite the grotesque imagery, there is still a strange sense of peace that fills my gut when I gaze upon them.  I wonder if it’s the flowers themselves or if it’s me.  When I glance down, I happen to find another wooden sign sticking out of the ground with the letters fading and the edges chipped.  The only word the sign has to offer me is, ‘Exit’.  Exit from where?  The garden?  This place?  Let’s go find out shall we?

I walk towards the archway to leave the garden.  Fuck, really?  A door?  That’s what the sign directs me to?  Is it even open?  I twist the handle.  Low and behold the door swings open with an ominous creak.  “Welcome Arthur.  I was wondering when you would get here.  Or if, in fact, you’d get here at all.”

Who the fucking hell are you?  My stare is met with a shining pair of green eyes and streak of red.  Wait a moment.  Didn’t that one woman warn me about this man—the man with the green eyes?  A loud laugh rifts through the air.  “Arthur, don’t you recognize me?  You should.”

I look into his smiling face but nothing seems to click.  The dark hair, the green eyes, and the white spots around his lips…the white spots…This must be the Blood Prince!  That explains the streak of red on his cheek and the white scars.  I wasn’t expecting that suit though; although that suit _does_ look a bit familiar.  Ah, I’ve got it!  That looks like the clothing I’m wearing.  Reacting to my thorough examination, he says, “You don’t see it do you?  Clearly you have much to learn.”  I’m not quite sure what you mean.  “So what can I do you for, Arthur?  The bonds?  That _is_ why you took this path, is it not?  You want me to free you and take from you the threads that keep your lips sewn.”

You’re being oddly reasonable.  Yes, I would like you to take out these threads.  What’s the catch though?  What’s your price?  Everyone here who gives help seems to have one.  I rub my fingers together to indicate the inquiry.  He laughs again and the sound reaches down inside of me and clenches uneasily.  You do not strike me as a very comfortable person to be around.  “The price?  The price for my services is very simple, Arthur.  All I ask of you is to look into a mirror once I’m done.”  You’re joking.  You want me to look at myself in a mirror.  What the hell kind of purpose does that serve?  There must be something more to it than that.

After my delay in responding, his eyes start to narrow.  “Arthur,” he says, voice growing cold, “I do not make offers twice.  You either take it or leave it.  I can promise you that if you decline, you will not see those threads removed for a long time to come.  That is my only warning on the matter.”  I cannot trust you, but then, who can I trust in this bizarre place?  If you do not remove the threads, who will?  Alright, fine.  All I have to do is look in a mirror?  Then why not?  I give a hesitant nod and the corners of his lips curl into a smirk.  Yeah, the smile thing definitely does not work for people here.  “Very good, very good.”

He raises a hand so I can see it and then…snaps his fingers.  Christ, really?  How is that—I feel a slight tingle around my lips.  Is it—are they really gone?  Very gingerly I attempt to open my mouth.  YES!  “Oh fuck, _finally_!” I cry.  I did it.  I spoke!  Oh it’s so nice to hear the sound of my own voice!  How did you do that?

I hear the sound of clapping.  The man looks at me before tapping a finger on his nose.  “Our arrangement, Arthur.  Here, take a peek.”  He steps over to a table and grasps hold of a small hand mirror laced with edges of gold and silver.  Has that table always been there?  Then again, I haven’t really taken the time to look at the room; it’s very dim and all that’s really discernible is shadows and that man.  “It’s for you.”  He passes me the mirror.  I take in a deep gulp of air— _through the mouth_ —and close my eyes.  It’s just a mirror, Arthur.  What harm can it do?  I bring the mirror up to face me and then I open my eyes.

“No, that’s not—that’s not possible.”  The man staring back at me, the man in the mirror, it is _him_.  How?  The Blood Prince and I, we are the same man.  How can that be?

My eyes dart up to look at him.  A fresh tear of blood spills down his cheek and over the curve of his sneering lip.  “Don’t you see, Arthur?  Everything here was of your own making, of your own design, for you chose this path.  You had the opportunity to change course, but now it’s time to leave.”  I don’t understand!  What do you mean time leave?  None of this makes sense!

“Look into the mirror, Arthur.  It’s time for you to wake up.”  What are you saying?  I glance back down at the glass to find its shining surface covered in blood.  Christ!  “Wake up, Arthur.  Go home.”

NO!

I’m falling.

Up.

Into darkness.

Someone please help me.

Please.

Time freezes.

I am alone.

Then I crash without a sound.


	5. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I open my eyes and nothing is as I remember, for there is nothing to remember at all. I travel down these paths with no voice, lost amongst the trees with no direction save for the one that takes me ever closer to freedom. Constantly I must ask myself, where are my steps taking me? Who are these people that lead me on my journey? What is it that I am so intently searching for?

I open my eyes.  Oh Christ I’m awake.  It was a dream.  Of course it was a dream.  Why wouldn’t it have been?  That’s what we do.  That’s our job—we work in the dreamscape.  “Arthur!”  I look up into Ariadne’s anxious face.  “Did you find him?”  It is those words that bring my thoughts back into focus.  Oh no.  No, no, NO!

“SHIT!”  I rip out the needle from my arm and stand up.  I shouldn’t be awake yet.  That couldn’t feasibly have been the correct amount of time.  Why am I back?  And even more importantly, why couldn’t I remember while under?  What kind of freakish twisted world was that?

“Arthur,” I hear Dom say.  “You need to sit down so we can talk about this.”  No sitting down.  No talking about my utter failure.  That was fucking _disgraceful_.  “Arthur!  I told you this wouldn’t be easy.  And in fact, it might not be possible at all.”

I turn with a snarl and resist the urge to knock his front teeth in.  “Eames is trapped down there.  Eames is trapped in fucking limbo and I _refuse_ to leave him down there.  If I don’t find him, his mind will become so warped that by the time he awakens there won’t _be_ any Eames.  He’ll be gone forever.”

“I understand that,” Dom replies, attempting to be reasonable, the dick.  “I know this is hard for you, but what happens if you get lost down there as well?”

I narrow my eyes.  If only gazes could kill.  Consider yourself fortunate that I don’t shoot you in the head Dom, because at this moment that is what I feel like doing.  Despite my violent thoughts, I respond by saying, “That is not your concern.”  I throw myself back down on the chair and push the PASIV’s needle back into my flesh.  “I’m going back under.”

Ariadne steps beside me and leans down to cover my hand.  “Arthur, maybe you should rest.  Take a break first.”

My response is a hard glare.  Fuck off.  Don’t make me angry at you too, Ariadne.  “Every second that passes is another hour, another day, another _year_ that passes for him.  You will set the machine again and you will turn it on.”  She glances over at Dom with that infuriating, ‘help me out here’ look on her face.  Dom’s lips thin.

“We can’t make him stay, Ari.  He’ll do it with or without our help.  Personally, I’d rather it be with.”  Thank you.  Now can we please get back on task here?  Dom steps over to the machine and looks down at me.  “Are you sure?”

My eyes drag away from him and over to the body lying prone beside me.  You should be awake and smiling.  You should be here with us, celebrating a job well done.  I usually don’t do the whole public displays thing, but I cannot help to urge to reach out and brush my fingers along the tops of his knuckles.  We made a vow to each other, a promise.  We said we’d stick by one another no matter the obstacles—always.  I will find you, Eames.  I promise you that.  I wrap my fingers around his and squeeze.  Fuck it if they see.  “Do it.”

I close my eyes…

~

I awaken to the sound of a bird crying out.

Where the hell am I?  I roll up into a sitting position and dust some of the dirt off my jacket sleeves.  A plethora of trees surrounds me on every side, shading the pathway I’m lying on.  This is very peculiar.  Why am I in the middle of a forest?  And for that matter why am I wearing a suit jacket in the middle of the woods?  I don’t really know how it is I got here.  Okay, let’s think about this rationally.  What is the last thing I remember doing?  Once I’ve established that, I can backtrack from there.  I try to shuffle through my head and am met with a gapping black pit that taps at the back of my skull uncomfortably.  This cannot be real.  How can I possibly have no memories?   Oh dear God.  I close my eyes and take in a deep breath through my nose.  Calm down.  Just calm down.  It is okay.  It’s fine.  I will figure this out.  I’m sure I can find someone to help me out.  There has to be a person around here who knows what happened to me and where the nearest hospital is.  Maybe I just got hit on the head and this is a temporary memory loss.  Yes, that must be it.  Surely this must all just be one huge mistake.

Pushing myself off the ground, I look down the path and find the trail is marked by a series of oddly shaped signs.  This just gets more and more fascinating, doesn’t it?  What sort of place is this exactly?  As I walk, I take a peek at each sign in turn.  The words are an odd jumble of phrases, none of which makes much sense.  But I suppose with the worn down quality of them, what can one expect?  Most of these are illegible as it is.  I am only walking for a few moments before I see the end of the pathway.  As I walk closer, I look down to the right and read the last sign.  ‘Time Awaits’ is scrawled across the surface of it in faded white paint.  A small twinge hits me in the forehead as I read the words; nevertheless, I resist the urge to rub at the spot on my forehead, instead tightening my hand into a fist.  When I reach the end of the trail, there is a fork dividing it into two pathways.  Marking the fork is a solitary sign buried deep into the ground between the two.  Hmm, this will be intriguing.  I lean down to read it.  ‘Turn Right for Cobb, Turn Left for Eames.’  Cobb and Eames, huh?  I wonder what that means.


End file.
